Explore "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear / The name I used to run at, when a child, / From innocent play, and leave the cowslips plied, / To glance up in some face that proved me dear / With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear / Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled / Into the music of Heaven's undefiled, / Call me no longer. Silence on the bier, / While I call God-call God!-so let thy mouth / Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to complete the south, / And catch the early love up in the late.